


Extant

by nonhic



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Conspiracy, Gen, Mytharc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonhic/pseuds/nonhic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please read 'Jewel Net' beforehand. </p><p>Special thanks to Bardsmaid for all of her help. This is dedicated to her.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read 'Jewel Net' beforehand. 
> 
> Special thanks to Bardsmaid for all of her help. This is dedicated to her.

Her hand is on my spine, gently pushing me along. In the back of my mind I have a growing suspicion that this is all a dream. There's a sudden ache below my ear, but I can barely remember taking a hit to side of my neck. It was all a blur of pain and blood and vague bone-rattling sensations. Maybe she's doing this on purpose -- hurting me after Mulder's had his turn. As I slip away the only thing I feel is the soft skin of her palm against my cheek. Not a dream.

 

****************************************

 

It happened in Westby, shortly after they crossed the border into Montana. Mulder saw him first. He was rounding a corner when Mulder caught up and pressed the gun to his neck. Scully could see their breaths in the chilly air, swirling and fading away in the small space between them. He didn't fight it. Mulder dumped him in the back seat and drove without saying a word.

No one complained of the noise when Mulder dragged him inside and beat him. By the time she managed to pull Mulder away, Krycek was slumped over in the corner, unresponsive to the hoarse yelling coming from her partner. Scully waited for the phone to ring -- a call from the front desk, or a concerned voice at the door. There was nothing. She realized later that were the only ones at the motel.

 

****************************************

 

"Your friend?" Mulder asks me.

"No," I say.

"So tell me why you're following him."

"I could ask you the same thing."

"What I do is legitimate," he says. "Don't tell me you're on vacation in this hick place."

I look away and wonder how long I'll be here. This is stupid; it's a waste of my time. He smacks me across the mouth and I taste blood again. It takes me a few seconds to suppress the wave of nausea.

"What are you doing here, Krycek?"

The son of a bitch is probably miles away while Mulder plays around with me. If I lose him, then that's it. I'm alone in this. I have nothing else besides a car and a gun and a flaky network of contacts, half of whom would rather watch me die than offer their help. I left the car behind when Mulder found me. He took my gun, too.

"Richter," I spit out. "His name is Richter."

"We know who he is. Why are you tailing him?"

"I'm not after Richter."

"Then what?"

"It's none of your business, Mulder. You want Richter? Go find him. Just stay out of my way."

He smirks. "Trying to get rid of me again?"

If only he knew. But I'm done explaining myself. I force a smile through the deep ache in my jaw; let him think whatever he wants.

"Mulder," I hear from behind. The clarity of her voice startles me. Somehow I'd forgotten that she was in the room.

"He may have left already," Scully says, impatient. Heat floods the skin on the back of my neck, but I have no idea why.

He nods at her, then the two of them go off to gather their things. I watch him from the floor at the foot of the bed. When he opens the door, the cold air rushes in and wakes me a little from my stupor. He gives me his typical blank look before he exits, bags in hand. I catch a glimpse of Scully as she puts her things into the trunk of the car. Across the parking lot, Mulder's pulling open the door to the motel office.

But then she comes through the doorway suddenly, briefly blocking my view. When she bends closer, I panic. I don't know how I should react, I don't know anything anymore. The entire time she hasn't said a word to me, although I know it was her who took me into the bathroom and cleaned me up after Mulder destroyed my face.

Scully takes me by the chin and turns me side to side while I avoid her gaze. I ache all over as she undoes the cuff around the metal bedframe and attaches it to my prosthesis behind me. When I lean forward to stretch my back, I sense her hand on my wrist, cold but gentle. I clench my teeth as she feels around the metal cutting into my flesh. Neither of us speak, not even when she pauses, her lips pressed firmly together, her fingertips burning into my skin. I drop my head and stare at the floor. Scully lets out a sigh, maybe in disgust, before she suddenly moves away. My head sinks lower. She's on her way out by the time I get to my feet.

I follow her to the car and shiver as I slid into the back seat. The two of them get in, perfectly in sync. Mulder starts the engine, and I close my eyes.

It's stupid of me, but I doze while he drives. Their voices are distant and low, difficult for me to understand. A long time has passed when I'm awake enough pick up on what they're saying. It seems that we've caught up to Richter.

For a moment the relief is enough to stop the pain. I press my forehead against the glass and allow myself to sleep. This isn't over yet.

 

****************************************

 

The motel that Richter picked is nicer than theirs. It was an idle observation Scully made when she saw the antique furniture through the window as he flipped the switch and rushed in headlong without even closing the door. Stupid, she thought, when he came back and stood in full view at the doorway, leisurely rolling his narrow shoulders while he sucked on a cigarette. It occurred to her that if Krycek were really after him, Richter would have never made it this far.

It was the Gunmen who had sent them things, told them about this man who had surfaced in all the right places in the last few months. She wasn't sure what had resonated with Mulder so deeply. Maybe it was the frequent flights to Tunisia, or the alleged sightings of Richter near unmarked facilities scattered throughout the rural U.S.. Dubious sources and inconsistent timelines didn't trouble him as much as it bothered her. In the end, he was certain.

Scully had her doubts.

"He could know," Mulder insisted, "about my abduction."

Scully had to force herself to ponder it on practical terms, or else she wouldn't have had anything to say. "It would be better if we had a warrant," she offered at last. "If you spook Richter, he might run."

"Well," he replied, and she remembers how he finally grinned, "I guess we'll have to catch him by surprise."

Two days later, a bureau car was procured and a cover-story fed to the appropriate superiors. Skinner knew a little, but Kersh did not. With Richter's Manhattan address in hand, Mulder headed for New York. Grudgingly, she followed.

They found Richter outside his apartment. He was getting into a rental car, his bony fingers gripping an expensive carry-on. Scully bit her lip at what she saw, but Mulder merely shrugged.

Richter's unknown destination became theirs. They hopped flights twice, switched cars on no less than four occasions. It was only until North Dakota that Richter settled on driving the rest of the way. The erratic nature of their journey didn't make it any less dull.

And now, this mess.

"Your turn tonight." Mulder's teasing tone is lost between the incessant clicking of the blinker. The idea of another cold night outside Richter's motel is enough to make her shudder.

He pulls into the parking lot and drops the keys into her open hand. Krycek lifts his bowed head in the rearview mirror as Scully slips into the driver's seat, but his eyes never move from the floor.

"Get out," Mulder orders flatly. She sees one hand on Krycek's collar while the other slips forcefully behind their captive's shoulder to find the cuffs.

The way he cries out makes her heart constrict. He barely made a noise when Mulder was yelling, beating him bloody in the motel; he stifled his sobs when he pulled away from her and pressed himself against the tile floor of the bathroom, dazed and shaking, caught in some kind of violence-induced nightmare.

Her partner shoves him roughly towards the door. Krycek is bent over as he stumbles; this time he merely whimpers when Mulder grabs ahold of the chain.

"Mulder," she hisses, glaring as they disappear together into the room. Her disapproval goes ignored except for the subtle tensing in Mulder's shoulders before he slams the door.

Scully sighs and turns the key.

The town they're in is small, barely large enough to warrant a tiny dot on the map. She rolls the car to a stop at the empty intersection. The traffic lights hanging from the wires above cast a sinister red glow on the pavement. When the light turns green, she eases forward, trying to draw out the time. The short drive to Richter's motel is not conducive to easing the foreboding in her mind.

She's sitting in the car, listless, eyeing the curtains of Richter's darkened room when she allows herself to consider Krycek. Four months he'd been gone, and Scully assumed he was dead. It was a dreadful thought, something that she had pushed away and eventually learned to ignore. But between his sudden appearance and her anxiety about Richter, it's something else that leaves her feeling troubled and empty. In the two days they've had Krycek she hasn't been able to get him alone for more than a few seconds. They need to talk. She knows the deep cuts in his wrist are not new.

 

****************************************

 

I can tell Mulder's getting impatient. They've been on the road too long, doing the same damn thing over and over again. He thinks Richter's trying to throw them off because he suspects he's being followed, but it's much simpler than that. The old man is methodical. He just likes to take his time.

"Where do you think he's going?" Mulder asks me.

Shit, no more questions. I ignore his eyes in the rearview mirror and stare out the window.

It's flat where we are, not a single hill for miles. I've seen this before -- flashes of a similar landscape from the back of a pickup when I wasn't blind from the hollow ache in my stomach and the oily film burning in my mouth. Mulder stares ahead, doesn't seem to notice the shudder I've failed to suppress. I sigh against the window. My breath clings to the glass and the images blur.

Mulder slams the brakes, and I almost bash my face into the back of Scully's seat. She twists around to look at me; the worry in her eyes is so plain and unexpected that I can't stand it. I turn away to see that Mulder's already on my side with his hand on the door.

He drags me out and I get a mouthful of ice. I'm suddenly on my feet as he pulls me along by the collar of my jacket. Scully's shouting his name behind us.

"Giving up on Richter already?" I ask.

He doesn't answer.

"I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, Mulder, but we're going to lose him."

"Shut up," he says.

We walk like this for far too long. I glance back and realize that I can barely see the road anymore. It's just a thin layer of gray lining the white edge of the snow. This isn't good. He shoves me forward and I fall to my knees.

The sound goes out at the same time I feel pain explode behind my ear. All I see is white. I can't tell if it's the frost on the ground or if my vision stopped working. Hands are on me, tugging at something. I'm only dimly aware of the cuffs snapping back into place.

He's gone. It takes me awhile to get up, my limbs are already rigid and lights are flashing in my eyes. I see Mulder off in the distance, my jacket in one hand, the other pulling Scully with him. My head starts to throb at the same time that I realize he's going to leave me here.

"Mulder, you son of a bitch!"

I chase after him, but I don't get too far. I hit the ground more times than I can count. There's something warm on my neck, probably blood. I wonder what it was that he hit me with. Scully wrestles away from him, and I see the annoyance on her face. She's nearly at my side by the time Mulder breaks into a run and comes after us. I don't bother to get up as she bends over me and presses her hand to the side of my head.

"All right," I wheeze, "all right, all right."

She glances behind her and leans closer. "Krycek," she whispers sharply, but there's no acrimony in her tone.

Mulder comes up and circles me, dragging my jacket in the snow. He walks out of view before I'm hoisted up off the ground. The pain that shoots from my fingertips to my shoulders is enough to blind me for a second.

"Talk," I hear him snarl.

"Richter," I gasp, "Richter doesn't matter. He's not important."

"Then why are you following him?"

"He's meeting someone."

"Who?"

"A man named Kaiser."

"Who's Kaiser?"

I breathe hard and don't answer. At the edge of my peripheral vision I see Scully staring at me.

"Who's Kaiser?" he says again into my ear. I can't help but yell when he twists the cuffs.

"He did work in Tunisia," I growl back. "Richter is just his American contact, someone to help him reclaim the abandoned labs."

I cough into the snow after he drops me. It's a struggle to get back on my knees and away from the cold.

"What about the labs?"

I tilt my head up to see Mulder narrowing his eyes. Scully is so small next to him, her hand like a vise on his arm and that frown on her face. I know she isn't stupid. She must remember Pennsylvania. But then it suddenly dawns on me that she hasn't told Mulder about me, about anything. If my lungs weren't burning so badly, I'd laugh at how fucking unfair all of this is. He punishes me for fighting his fight, for all the things that he doesn't have the nerve to do, and through it all he's never known how good he's had it. He's standing here because of me. He's standing here with Scully.

"What's it to you?" I blurt out, like I don't know why he looks so damn scared. It's an invitation for another beating, but at this point I don't care. I want him angry, I want to hear him say it so I can tell him just how wrong he is about everything. Scully's glaring at me.

When I see his hand twitch, I know it's coming. I can feel each ridge of his knuckles when he catches me with a blow to the mouth. I land on my side, a shiver of agony running down my spine.

"Mulder," Scully says. Her voice is ringing in my ears. "That's enough."

He's coming closer. His figure looms as he stops and leans over me. "Why don't you tell me, Krycek?" he says. "I don't think you need a reminder."

I lie in the snow, panting, spit and blood seeping from my gums. It's so easy to bait him, and right now I can't shut myself up. I swirl the copper in my mouth and hock it at his feet. Smiling, I look at him. "Remind me."

"You!" Mulder roars. "You sent me on that ship!" He's holding on to a fistful of my shirt collar, yelling right into my face. "I was found in one of these labs, in Utah. Isn't that what your plan was, Krycek?"

I want to tell him the truth, that he was one of the lucky ones, that it was me who stole from Kaiser to save his sorry ass. By some miracle I manage to crush the urge and shut my mouth. I'm being stupid when I can't afford to. Another personal crusade of his is the last thing I need.

"No," I say, the smile fading from my face. "That wasn't the plan."

For a moment he just stares, and I wonder if he's going to hit me again. But then he flashes his teeth; the fabric tightens around my neck.

"What did they do to me?" Mulder growls.

All at once he lets me go. I watch him watch me as I slump back down onto the ground. The last of my rage fades with the pain, and I realize how tired I am of all of this.

"I don't know, Mulder," I rasp. "I was in a goddamn prison right before I came to you. I wasn't lying to you then, and I'm not lying to you now. The proof was there. It was yours." I look away from the both of them. "I didn't know they'd take you."

Out of the corner of my eye I see his shoulders tense, but Scully stops him. "Not here, Mulder."

He looks at me with pure disgust before he turns away and starts back towards the car. I hear Scully make a small noise above me, and I can't bring myself to see what she might be wearing on her face. But then she's bent over, pulling me up. We're silent as we walk together. Even though she has her hand on my arm I can feel her withdraw.

My jacket lies a few feet ahead where Mulder dropped it, a dirty-looking thing staining the perfect whiteness of the snow. She picks it up and drapes it over me, then gives a small tug at the lapels. I struggle to choke down the sob in my throat.

 

****************************************

 

They settle on a corner booth in a quiet diner. Scully had made Mulder take the handcuffs off of Krycek in the parking lot, but the waitress still stares. Krycek doesn't seem to notice the reactions he is drawing with his dreadful appearance; he's too busy testing his jaw and twisting his mouth as he takes a seat across from her. She would have examined him for broken bones in the car if weren't for Mulder's stubborn refusal to pull over.

Mulder shifts noisily in his seat beside her while Krycek eyes his mug of tea. All the outrage and fervor from an hour ago has dwindled down into an uncomfortable gloom.

"You were incarcerated?" she asks after a long silence.

Krycek looks bored. "Yeah."

"How did that happen?" Mulder sneers.

"That smoking bastard thought I was selling his information, so he sent me away to some third-world shithole."

"You don't learn, do you Krycek?" The derision in Mulder's tone irritates her. Krycek only gives Mulder a disinterested glance before he turns his gaze to Scully.

"I wasn't selling anything," he declares, but then he rolls his shoulders; the weariness in his eyes is apparent when he looks at her again. "The artifact, the evidence -- I took them to stall the invasion, not to make a profit."

"You were blackmailing Skinner," Mulder says, his hand balled up in a fist on the tabletop.

"So what?" Krycek snaps. "All I know is we were this close to seeing our end. If I hadn't cleaned things up, the artifact would've made its way to the wrong people."

The irony is not lost on Mulder. He manages an amused chuckle, but Scully sits quietly, dread burning in the pit of her stomach. "You murdered Dr. Sandoz," she says tersely. "And Michael Kritschgau."

The man across from her fidgets, his hand hidden beneath the table. "They couldn't be trusted," is all he says.

"And why is that?" Mulder asks.

Krycek sighs and closes his eyes. "When you were sick," he says haltingly, nodding towards Mulder, "I heard rumors that the Colonists wanted to initiate the invasion. A few people connected to the original Group caught wind of it, and there was some kind of struggle between factions to facilitate their arrival."

"Kritschgau wasn't one of them, Krycek. Get your facts straight."

"That's not what I'm saying, Mulder. These groups could've gotten to Kritschgau, to Sandoz. I couldn't take that chance." He grimaces as he turns to face the window. "Your father worked with these men," he says. "He knew that all they ever wanted was to save themselves."

The tension grows when Krycek falls silent. Mulder is dangerously quiet, and she shifts uncomfortably on the worn vinyl seat, the disparity between them and Krycek now more stark than she allowed herself to recognize when Mulder was gone. In an effort to salvage the interrogation, Scully crosses her arms against her chest and levels her gaze at Krycek. At the same moment he lifts his chin to look at her. "What does any of this have to do with Kaiser?" she asks. She watches his features slacken before he turns away again.

"Kaiser's allied with Colonists," Krycek replies. "He's helping them with colonization. It's a last ditch effort because the Rebels are winning."

Mulder pushes off the table and folds his arms. When he speaks again, his voice is controlled, contained rage barely showing in his casual tone. "So what's going down with Richter, then?"

Krycek pointedly ignores the question. His eyes remain fixed on the parking lot while he avoids both their stares.

It's clear to her what he's unwilling to say. Scully presses her lips together and says as coolly as possible, "You're planning to kill Kaiser."

Krycek doesn't even blink.

"When we find him," she presses, "we're going to arrest him along with Richter."

"Forget it."

"I’m not asking."

Krycek tosses her a dirty look. "Kaiser's the last link to the Group. He's the only one left who can help the Colonists succeed. Trust me, you'll want him dead."

She stares Krycek down until he drops his gaze to the tabletop.

Mulder lets out an exasperated breath beside her. "You're telling me," he says, incredulous, "that you're willing to do all this to stop the invasion when you could just as easily save your own ass?"

Their captive looks up, his eyes hooded and contentious. "We're on the same side, Mulder," Krycek says in a low voice. "I didn't think I'd have to tell you a second time." A glance at her partner shows his upper lip curled in distaste. She knows what he's referring to. She remembers Mulder's cryptic remarks on the way to Weikamp, that dubious note he'd shown her. In the back of her mind she'd presumed it was Krycek, but Mulder made it a point not to say it. It's an unsettling thought, the way that Krycek was able get under his skin. Hers, too.

She jumps a little when Mulder abruptly jerks away from the table and stalks towards the bathroom. Krycek stares at the mug in front of him in silence. It's the first time that they're finally alone and she can't find anything to say. It was only after Krycek was gone that she began to suspect him about Skinner; how else could he have known where she was when Mulder disappeared? It's not a topic she wants to discuss. She is still searching for an appropriate query when he suddenly clears his throat.

"How did you know where to find me?" Krycek says quietly.

Scully sighs and looks down at the tabletop. "We didn't. We were following Richter when Mulder saw you in Westby."

For the first time Krycek removes his hand from underneath the table and wraps it around the mug. The object rattles in his grip, clattering against the formica surface. An ache spreads across her chest when she sees his swollen fingers, the dried ring of blood around the edge of his sleeve. He sets the mug back down without taking a drink.

"Krycek, tell me what happened."

"What?"

"Your wrist. Mulder didn't do that."

She can feel him shrink away from her. "Are you sure about that?" he replies after a long while. He puts on a scowl, but his quiet tone lacks conviction.

"I know what it looks like, Krycek. Who did this to you?"

Krycek leans forward and presses his chest against the edge of the table, his face presently blank. He says nothing.

It's only when Mulder pushes through the door and pulls him from the booth that something crosses his stoic expression. She isn't sure what it is.

Mulder tosses a few bills on the table before manhandling Krycek though the entrance. She sees the familiar glint of metal as her partner pulls back his jacket and reaches toward his belt.

Krycek is up against the car when she finally catches up with them in the parking lot. He accepts the cuffs with nothing more than an indignant smirk before Mulder shoves him into the back seat and slams the door. Through glass of the window Krycek catches her eye, but Scully looks away. Instead, she stares into the diner at the row of empty red booths, at the young waitress leaning over the cash register, craning her neck to get a better look.

 

 


	2. Part 2

I can hear Mulder and Scully arguing in the motel parking lot. It must be about Richter. We lost him hours ago because Mulder decided  to play tough guy with me. I'd rub that enormous nose of his in it  if it weren't for the fact that this doesn't bode well for me either.  This shit would never have happened if I hadn't been so careless  and gotten myself caught.  
  
They make me wait in the car. When they're done, it's Scully that  opens the door to come get me. I walk with her into the dimly lit  room and see that Mulder's inside already. He's standing there,  holding his gun with his finger on the trigger.  
  
My chest tightens. I can't talk about Kaiser anymore, not with her.  I have no intentions of telling her that the disc I stole belonged  to Kaiser, that he held me for nearly a month before I was able to  escape. If Mulder knew about the disc, he'd have Kaiser sealed off  so fast that there'd be no way I could get to him and finish this.  I'm afraid that I'm so tired that Mulder might beat it all out  of me.  
  
Scully sits me down on the bed and undoes the cuffs. I know she's  trying to be gentle, but it hurts anyway. I watch her clean and  bandage the cuts on my wrist, and I hope that she isn't going to  ask about them again. Especially in front of Mulder.  
  
But she doesn't. Instead she takes me by the chin and inspects my face.  
  
"Look here," she says, and I follow her finger with my eyes.  
  
"Are you seeing double?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Blurry vision?"  
  
I shake my head.  
  
Scully pulls out a penlight and shines it into my pupils.  
  
"It doesn't look like you have an orbital fracture," she says as she starts to feel around my jaw. I grit my teeth when she presses down too firmly.  
  
Scully snaps on a glove while I watch Mulder eye me from the corner of the room. I barely notice Scully standing beside me until she wraps a hand around the base of my neck; the fingers of her other hand brush roughly against my lips. Stunned, I pull away, but Scully's grip tightens.  
  
"Open," she orders.  
  
She touches her gloved fingertips to the roof of my mouth and presses the heel of her hand to my teeth. I can feel her shift my face around, pushing and pulling in different directions. A chill runs through me and I start to sweat. I wait for the pain to start,  for her to snap my teeth at the gums or dig her nails into my hard palate.  
  
But suddenly she moves away and starts packing up her things. I'm sitting with my mouth hanging open, the taste of latex still on my tongue, when I catch the glare she throws at Mulder. It's the same baleful look Scully gave me when she showed me that godforsaken rock at Dulles. I can't help but wonder if they were arguing about Richter at all.  
  
He keeps me at gunpoint as he shuts the door behind her. When  he comes closer I somehow know that he's going to take this out on me.

 

****************************************

 

 

A map lies open on the bed amid a smattering of grainy surveillance photos and documents. Scully looks at the clock and rubs her eyes. It's one in the morning and she still has no clue where Richter might be  headed. All this time spent on the road for nothing. Mulder suggested that they call the Gunmen when they were talking outside, but they never got the chance. Somewhere along the way their discussion about Richter devolved into an argument about Krycek.

Scully makes up her mind and looks for her cell phone only to discover that it's not in her coat. She lets out a weary breath and grabs the keys.

It's only when she's near the car that Scully realizes something is wrong. The edges of the windshield are fogged over; the faint tapping sound coming from the vehicle is too distinct to ignore. She grips her weapon firmly in her hands as she approaches, squinting into the dark interior of the car.

Krycek's figure is a shivering mass in the front passenger seat. Only his back is visible, covered by his black leather jacket, his short dark hair blending in with the collar. He looks tired and desperate  when she pulls open the door to uncuff him; the flat yellow light from the streetlamp dulls the vague hostility in his eyes.

In her unease she hesitates, her fingers still on the unturned key in the lock of the handcuffs securing him to the steering wheel. He must have noticed her apprehension because he suddenly turns his head away. Scully settles on attaching it to the prosthetic arm in front of him. No need to further abuse his shoulder, but no point in giving him an easy escape, either.

She helps him to her room and he sinks to the floor.

"Your partner," he spits, but he doesn't finish that thought. Krycek presses his back against the bed, still shaking. Scully pulls the blanket down from the mattress and covers him before joining him on the ground. In such close proximity she can almost smell his anger amid the sharp scent of blood. She  doesn't want to know how long he's been out there.

She is still scrutinizing Krycek when he suddenly dips his head. His silent indignation makes her uneasy; she isn't sure of what he might do. Against her better judgement, Scully reaches out and lifts his chin, only to find a ragged expression and hollow eyes.

"You shouldn't be involved in this," he says, jerking out of her grasp.

"Do you think I have a choice?" Scully snaps. She notes his immediate reaction, the way he cringes at her tone. "What else do you know about Richter?"

He recovers enough to answer her. "He's a scientist."

"His records show he was on payroll for an overseas private military contractor. In the tactical unit, apparently."

Krycek twists his lips in faint amusement and she knows her suspicions were not unfounded.

"You believe that?" he muses. "Richter couldn't shoot his  way out of a paper bag."

"Yeah, I gathered that much."

"That was his cover," Krycek offers. "He did research in an unknown division. Epigenetics, or something."

"And Kaiser? What's his background?"

Krycek shrugs. "I've told you what I know."

"You know very little about a man you're intending to kill," Scully replies, agitated at his sudden aloofness. Krycek stares at her, his face still blank, before he looks away. In her exhaustion, she decides to relent. She won't get anything else out of him tonight. Besides, it doesn't matter for now. They might not be able to find Richter at all.

She reaches out and draws the blanket from his shoulders. "I guess Mulder hasn't let you take a shower yet."

Krycek looks up and eyes her doubtfully.

"Come on." Scully leads him into the bathroom and briefly considers chaining him to the metal rod in the shower. But she knows it  won't do; she'd have to strip him first. The thought of it prickles her scalp, and she takes ahold of his arm to undo the cuffs. She has a peculiar feeling that he won't try to run.

His muscles tense, then relax in her grip. Krycek is looking at her carefully, speculating. Scully ignores his hard gaze, concentrating instead on the key in her fingers and on the knowledge of his grim objective.

"Don't lie to me, Krycek," Scully says quietly. The handcuffs are warm and heavy in her hand; Krycek's arm drops limply to his side, his eyes on the ground. "You have five minutes."

She looks away before she shuts the door. The doleful expression on his damaged face is something she can't bear.

 

****************************************

 

I'm standing in the shower in the dark. It's easier this way, so I don't have to look at myself. The warm water makes me shudder; it pricks my skin and stings the stitches on my face. I let my hand drag across the back of my neck and over my collarbone. It takes me two tries with my useless fingers to shut the water off.

When I come out Scully's standing by the door. Her eyes look me up and down, a gesture so familiar that I have to hold out my arm to distract from the ache in my chest. "Cuffs?"

Scully sighs and shakes her head. "Over here," she says.

There's a pillow neatly placed beside a folded blanket on the ground. I take my place on the floor as she walks to the side of the bed and rummages in a bag. She gets down next to me and goes to work replacing the dressings that I ripped off in the shower. I can't bring myself to watch her this time.

The handcuffs rattle when she pulls them out and attaches one end to the bedframe. I ignore her hesitation as she fingers the chain. I don't react to the way she takes care to snap it loosely around my wrist.

But then she doesn't move away like I expect her to. Her hand slides down and settles in the crook of my elbow. Her face is  just inches away from mine.

"They got to you," Scully says flatly, and I clench my teeth at her stubborn persistence. "Who were they?"

"Doesn't matter."

"What happened?"

I look away and try to remember that night in Hopland, but nothing comes to surface. I can only recall waking up time after time with blood in my mouth and darkness to greet me, that grin Kaiser had on his face when I could hear myself beg. "They held me for almost a month," I say. "I don't even know where. They found me in California."

Scully's quiet, considering. "They didn't kill you," she finally says. Her tone is neutral, an odd frown on her face. If it weren't for her eyes I would think she was disappointed.

I shake my head. "Somehow they knew I was the last one with the artifact. They wanted to know what I did with it and where it was."

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing."

Scully raises an eyebrow, then looks away.

We're silent for a long time. I can feel her fingertips on my skin as they travel down my arm and make a final sweep over my wrist.

"You could have come to me," she admonishes me quietly.

No, I couldn't. I keep my mouth shut and stare at the floor until she finally sighs and moves away. Scully settles on the bed while I lie down and close my eyes. The last thing I hear before I fall asleep is the faint rustle of papers and the soft sound of her breathing.

 

****************************************

 

Krycek barely stirs when Mulder knocks on her door.

A crack in the doorway is all that Scully will allow. Freezing weather or not, she knows better than to let him in. It's not hard to guess how Mulder would react if he saw their prisoner so poorly secured to the bed.

Her partner glances in and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"You let him out of the car."

"He was going to freeze to death, Mulder."

"That was the point."

Scully doesn't bother to acknowledge the comment, unwilling to get into another dispute. Defending his father's murderer isn't exactly high on her list of hobbies.

"Scully, listen," Mulder says, abruptly dropping his voice. He gestures for her come outside and Scully follows, partially closing the door behind her. "I just got off the phone with Byers."

"What did he say?"

"They pulled a satellite image of this area. There's an unmarked building like the other ones, about fifteen miles off the highway near a town called Browning. Maybe Richter's headed there."

"Well, that's more than we had a few hours ago."

Mulder nods and shivers a little. "So," he asks, "what kind of game do you think Krycek's playing this time?"

"I don't know," she sighs. "You think he's somehow setting us up?"

"Maybe."

Scully lowers her chin. "It's hard to say what Krycek's really  after," she thinks aloud, idly considering the accuracy of Krycek's comments about Richter. "But he claims Richter isn't who we think he is."

"So who is he, then?"

"A scientist, with ties to the conspiracy. You're right, Mulder. It's likely he knows details about your abduction, and why you  were found in that lab."

Mulder grunts, wrinkling his brow. "I asked the Gunmen to look  into Kaiser. They've never run across the name before."

"For all we know he might not even exist. Krycek wasn't exactly forthcoming when I questioned him about Kaiser. He's definitely hiding something."

"Well," Mulder says, "when is he not?" He rolls his neck in irritation and glances down the empty corridor. "You want me to take him?"

"No, Mulder. I can watch him tonight. You should get some rest."

He shifts in his shoes, mulling over the arrangement. "All right," he agrees. The small squeeze he places on her shoulder is more of an apology than anything else. She doesn't say anything when Mulder starts back towards his room. He's heard enough of the bad feelings she's had since they found Richter in New York.

Scully's hand is on the doorknob, her shoulder brushing thedoorframe when suddenly, she hears it. A low sound, almost a growl, loud enough to make her jump.

"What was that about?"

Krycek is wide awake, his head and shoulders poised above the edge of the bed. The hint of impudence in his tone makes her skin flush. Swallowing her ire, Scully contemplates the man sitting on the floor of her motel room, dried blood all down the front of his shirt, that familiar vehement look on his face. He comforted her once, when she found herself alone, not knowing if she'd see Mulder again.

Scully closes the door behind her. "Nothing," she says.

 

****************************************

 

It's still dark out when Scully wakes me. She unchains me from the bed and lets me use the bathroom. I fumble like a blind man with the gnarled tube of toothpaste she left out on the sink, all too aware of the vague sense of sickness washing over me. If lose this hand too, I wouldn't even be able to properly shoot myself.

For too long I stand in front of the mirror, flexing my fingers. I don't notice that she's opened the door until I feel a quick squeeze on my shoulder. I freeze, and I know Scully sees it.

She only hesitates briefly. "Will you let me look at it again?"

Maybe I answer her, or maybe I don't. All I feel is Scully tugging at me as she leads me to the bed, her calm voice asking routine questions, the way it stings as she pokes and prods and rubs at my knuckles.

"We should get you to a hospital and have this x-rayed," Scully murmurs, turning my hand over. "As a precaution."

I can't help but chuckle a little at all her assumptions. Funny how she thinks I'm going to let them keep dragging me around.

I show her my teeth and jerk my wrist. "Or you could just let me go."

"Hold still," Scully hisses, glaring. A few seconds pass, and then she lets out a breath. "You know I can't do that," she says.

It takes all my self-control not to pull away. I can't play along, not anymore. Without Richter, my plans to find Kaiser are shot to hell, and I know FBI procedure as well as Scully. If they have it their way, in a few hours I'll be on a plane with a US Marshal headed to D.C. The thought of it makes my blood run cold.

"Bullshit," I snap. "Both of you have interfered enough. None of this concerns you."

"We caught you, Krycek. You are our concern."

I shake my head. "Leave me here. Go back to headquarters. Tell them anything, just don't mention my name. I have to do this alone." My throat hurts and my voice breaks a little. I don't know what I can say to convince her.

"You must be joking," she says. "I'm an agent with the Bureau, I'm not your accomplice."

"This is going to be a dead end for both of us, Scully. I can't go back to D.C. with you."

I expect the evil eye again, but she only frowns to herself as she retrieves the handcuffs. Scully closes the cuff around my wrist and sighs.

"We may have a lead on Richter."

I stare at her and she stares back, daring me to go on. A mixture of dread and relief swells in my chest, but I look into her serious face and say nothing.

"We'll need Richter and Kaiser," Scully says. "Alive."

I almost laugh. Kaiser's a dead man as far as I'm concerned, and it's too damn bad if they don't like it. But it's pointless to argue. Let them arrest Kaiser. I can get the sadistic son of a bitch just as easily in their custody.

"If you try anything," Scully sighs, "you know I have to stop you."

I avoid her eyes and stare at the wall.

"I can't keep Mulder from stopping you, either."

"I know."

"Damn it, Krycek-"

"Scully," I grit out, "just do what you have to do."

She glares at me, her jaw clenched, but there's something else in Scully's eyes that twists like a knife in my heart. I remember it from last night, that same sort of sadness, before she shut the door and decided to play keep-away with me. I want to say something, but my mouth suddenly goes dry.

"We're leaving now," Scully says abruptly. She turns her head away as she picks up her bags, and I can't justify dragging out this conversation any longer. I follow her through the door into the cold grayness outside.

Mulder's standing next to the car with his hands on his hips. He gives me a long, scornful look as I approach, and I stare back at him until he breaks the moment and jerks the door open.

We all get in wordlessly.

An hour has lapsed in silence when we pass the final lone house at the edge of civilization. I'm about to ask where the hell we're going when Mulder decides to talk. Something about a lab near  another podunk town in this miserable state. It sounds so much like a joke that I stop listening halfway in.

"How sure are you about all of this?" I ask.

Mulder doesn't say a word, and that's all that I need to know.

"Fucking great."

The empty highway opens up ahead of us like a road into hell. I prop my forearm against the window and bury my face in the sleeve of my jacket, thankful that Scully was thoughtful enough to cuff my hand in front of me.

Snow swishes beneath the tires, aggravating the steady pulse in my ears. This is going to be a long ride.

 

****************************************

 

The car is unreasonably cramped and cold, and Scully's leg is falling asleep for the fourth time since the three of them arrived at this spot in the middle of nowhere. Beside her, Mulder fidgets, idly fiddling with the fast food wrappers strewn across the dashboard. She glances back from the front passenger side and sees Krycek's long body lying awkwardly along the length of the backseat, his shoulders wedged into the corner.

There is nothing but black all around them. The concrete structure that stood a few hundred yards ahead of them in the barren field was swallowed up by the darkness soon after the sun set.

Scully blinks and squints when a small light appears off in the distance. It moves closer, growing stronger as it splits into two. The faint rumble of an engine breaks into the cold air at the same time she recognizes the yellow glow as headlights.

"Mulder," she says, but her partner is already out of the car, hauling Krycek from the back. She gets out and steps aside when Mulder forces Krycek into the passenger seat and handcuffs him to the steering wheel.

"Stay low, Scully." Mulder has his weapon out, stepping gingerly on the frost-covered ground as he moves toward the light.

Scully follows, cursing the lack of cover -- no trees or ditches to keep from being seen. The gun feels cold and clumsy in her hands; the rush of adrenaline magnifies the prickling chill on the back of her neck.

Scully casts a glance behind her and sees Krycek looking on impassively through the windshield, apparently unruffled by the presence of this new arrival. His cool practicality makes her heart grow cold. With her back to him, Scully makes her way through the field. She realizes with dread that Krycek is merely waiting for them to return with Kaiser.

By the time she and Mulder get closer, a second car has appeared. Scully hits the ground first and Mulder follows suit. The dead grass around them is tall enough to obscure their line of sight.  Using the barrel of her gun to part the grass, Scully watches the drivers step out and stand together in the glow of the headlights.

The man on the right is indeed Richter. His wiry frame is in sharp contrast to the heavier man standing opposite from him.Neither speaks; no handshakes are exchanged. The heavier man lights a cigarette and gestures in the direction of the building that is still sitting in complete darkness.

"So he's inside?"

Richter brings his hand up to his face, shielding his eyes from the blinding high beams. "No, not yet."

"Then where is he?"

"Don't worry. He's coming."

"Bullshit," the other man says, glancing around. "You're wasting my time. Just do your job."

"I told you already. He'll be here."

"No," his companion counters, unamused. "I shouldn't have trusted you with this. Don't pretend to be more capable than you really are." He walks away from Richter towards the dark sedan.

Mulder tenses on the ground beside her, but Scully places a hand on his elbow to stop him.

Scully watches curiously as Richter stands in the grass, a little unsteady on his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Kaiser," Richter calls out suddenly. His arm is raised and trembling, a gun in his gloved hand. The other man turns in time to catch a bullet to the chest. Kaiser is groping underneath his jacket when the second bullet pierces his throat.

She and Mulder push off the ground and run toward the scene, trying to close the considerable distance before Richter can get away. At the sound of their footsteps, Richter bolts. His dark figure disappears into the tall grass as Mulder shouts for him to stop.

Kaiser makes a choking noise. Dropping to her knees, Scully presses her hand against the side of Kaiser's throat where the bullet shot cleanly through. The man writhes on the ground at the edge of the headlights, white spittle and blood spattering his lips. His chest heaves twice before his body goes still. Blood continues leaking from his neck; the cigarette lies on the ground, burning steadily next to his ear.

Scully checks his pockets and finds nothing. The gun he'd been reaching for remains secure in the holster.

It's not long before Mulder steps out from the grass and into the headlights. "I lost him," he declares, squinting.

"This man's dead."

Mulder makes a noise and pulls out his cell phone in frustration. "I'll get the local PD. We need to find Richter."

"You think they'll have the resources?" she asks, pulling out a handkerchief to open the door of Kaiser's car.

"Not likely."

Scully picks through the papers in the glove compartment while Mulder is on the phone. Receipts, a road map and not much else. The backseat is empty; when she checks the trunk there is nothing but a roll of duct tape and a crowbar in the beam of her flashlight.

"They're sending an ambulance," Mulder says as Scully returns to the front seat.

"How about manpower?"

"Just the sheriff in town," Mulder mutters, before adding  dryly, "Their helicopter's in service right now."

Scully lets out a breath and pulls down the sun visor. Something falls from above and lands in her lap.

It's a grainy security camera photo taken in what appears to be  an airport. There are a few scattered clusters of people in the wide-angle shot; most are too obscured or poorly defined to be readily discernible. The timestamp in the corner indicates that it was taken in February, earlier this year. Scully scans the photo until her eyes fall on a tall man dressed in black striding past the ticket counters. It's Alex Krycek.

 

****************************************

 

I don't know what to think when I see Mulder and Scully stumble out from the dark. The beam of Mulder's flashlight hits his partner as they come closer, and my heart sinks at the sight of her. Scully has blood all over her hands, but her eyes are clear and grim. They've come back empty-handed.

"I heard gunshots," I manage to choke out.

Mulder doesn't respond. He reaches over to put on the headlights before uncuffing me and dragging me out of the car. He shoves me to ground, but keeps a hold on my collar.

"Tell me what's going on, Krycek."

I twist away from his grip. "What the hell happened?"

"Richter's gone," Scully answers. "He shot and killed the other man who was there with him."

My mouth hangs open. Mulder is saying something, but I don't hear a thing. Panic rises in my throat, and I try my best to swallow it. Kaiser's dead. Richter shot him. I can't shake this weird feeling.

Mulder yells my name, and I look at him. "You said that the two of them were working together," he says. "So why would Richter kill Kaiser?"

There are so many reasons; not one of them is good news. My brain is catching up to my instincts now, and I shudder inside at the sudden revelation of what I'm up against. I clutch at my jacket and don't answer.

Scully is watching me carefully. "You didn't know this would happen."

"Of course I didn't," I snap.

"But you know why." There isn't a sliver of doubt in her voice.

I turn my head to stare at Mulder. It's easier dealing with his anger than her seriousness.

"Either you talk now," she says, "or we do this back in D.C."

So they're really going through with this. I look at the both of them: Mulder's face as blank as ever, Scully giving me that withering look. I'm still the enemy, a traitor, only worth the information I have. Even if I do tell them, what would they do with me, then? I can't remember the last time I've felt so alone.

I take a few seconds to pull myself together. "You don't want  to do that," I say coolly, but I wonder if they notice the fear running through my voice.

Mulder jerks his chin at me. "Give me one good reason."

The wind whistles around us, seeping into my jacket. I'm so tired. I don't want to be here in the cold, answering their questions. "If you bring me in," I say, "I'm as good as dead. Richter's going to finish what Kaiser started. I have contacts, resources that you don't have. I can help you stop it."

Scully eyes me, and I can't tell if she takes me seriously or not.  "We found something in Kaiser's car," she says slowly, in a tone I don't understand.

"You want to explain why he has a photograph of you?" Mulder interjects.

I cough, trying to fight the sudden urge to vomit. "Maybe I'm just a popular guy."

"Cut the crap, Krycek," he says. "And you think we're just going to let you go?"

"You don't have much of a choice."

Mulder scoffs. "What, and let you to kill Richter?"

"Oh come on, Mulder," I groan. "If I killed Richter, we'd have  nothing. Richter isn't working this alone; he fooled all of us. He took Kaiser out on someone else's orders, and now you lost  him. I'm your only chance of finding Richter again."

It only takes two steps for Mulder to reach me. "Get up." He yanks roughly at my collar.

"Listen-"

"I don't have time for your overblown bullshit, Krycek."

Something thick and hot starts to build in my throat. "How did you know about Richter in the first place?" I snarl. "Flight records? Surveillance photos that you just happened to come by?"

He tenses and stops; it's so damn predictable that I almost give him a grin. Scully is silent, her eyes on her partner. When I see Mulder's jaw tighten, I know I'm right.

"What's your point?" he says, tugging at me. "How are you involved in all of this?"

"Kaiser's been looking for me," I say between my teeth. "He was using Richter as bait to lure me here, but I knew better. Those flight records and reports about Richter were fabricated. They were meant for me to see." I wrestle my jacket from his grip and sneer. "You're too nosy for you own good, Mulder."

"What does Kaiser want from you?" Mulder snaps back, and I can hear the disdain in his tone.

"I don't know. I'd tell you to ask him yourself, but he's dead."

Mulder glares, and Scully throws a wary glance at him before turning back to me. "Then who's giving orders to Richter?"

"I don't know," I confess. "But Richter isn't a big player in all of this. Not like Kaiser."

"What makes you so sure he didn't orchestrate this?" Mulder asks.

"Richter's nothing but a scientist. He doesn't have the right connections needed to head a coup like this."

Mulder chuckles and shakes his head. "And I suppose you've got the right connections, then?"

"That's more than I can say for you."

"Oh yeah?" he replies, "then how come you didn't know this disaster would happen tonight?"

Goddamn asshole. I look Mulder in the eye, but he doesn't back down. "I can get you Richter."

"Forget it," he says, reaching for me.

I clench my teeth and grab his arm, pulling him closer. "You need me, Mulder," I hiss. Fuck him for making me beg like this, but I don't know what else to do.

Mulder's not even listening. Snorting, he shakes me off and tries to lift me up.

"Mulder, stop." Scully is hovering behind him, just past his shoulder.

He turns his head to look at her.

"I think we should listen to him," she says quietly.

Her expression is calm, her eyes fixed on her partner. She's serious about this. I know I'm gaping at her like the way Mulder must be doing now. Scully doesn't look at me.

Mulder doesn't object, doesn't say anything. I'm cold and hurting all over, watching the two of them just stand there, staring at each other. I'm not sure if I should say something or keep my mouth shut.

Wailing sirens break the silence between the three of us. I'm suddenly pushed over the hood of the car; the handcuffs are snapped back into  
place.

"We're not finished yet," Mulder spits at me before locking me in the backseat.

I blink at the blue and red lights flashing in the distance. They won't let me go. I know it. Mulder doesn't believe me, even if Scully might. But then, it really doesn't matter. I'll come out of this as alone as when they caught me.

 

****************************************

 

Scully watches Mulder talking to the sheriff. The situation doesn't look good -- a cursory search of the field yielded fresh tire tracks from a third vehicle, possibly an ATV. It's still too dark now, and they have to wait until morning if they're to do thorough sweep of the area. She knows Richter won't be found.

The ambulance is parked next to their car; the paramedics are gathering their things after having bagged up Kaiser's body. They offer Scully some saline solution and disinfectant wipes to clean herself off. The saline runs over her hands, rinsing away the last traces of blood, chilling her fingers in the frigid air. Krycek watches her intently from the back seat.

He flinches a little when she pulls open the driver-side door. Scully settles into the front seat, hiding her cold hands inside her coat pockets.

"I won't last long in a prison, Scully." His voice is raw, but his tone is neutral, oddly complacent. It makes her feel sick.

She pushes away the invading thoughts of Cardinale lying dead in his cell. "That photograph," she murmurs. "What did Kaiser want with you?"

Krycek shifts in his seat and doesn't reply.

"It seems to me that he wanted you dead." She won't mention the things she found in the trunk of Kaiser's car.

In the rearview mirror Scully can see him staring out the window, his expression blank.

"Why?" she asks.

Krycek's mouth twitches. "Who doesn't?"

"That doesn't answer my question."

Krycek remains quiet in the back; his silence this time pushes her over the edge.

"Krycek," she snaps. "What's your connection to Kaiser?"

She doesn't expect his sudden outburst. "Where do you think that disc came from?" Krycek snarls. But then he abruptly falls silent, his heavy breathing the only noise cutting through the tension in the cramped interior of the car.

The disc -- she remembers the disc. The one that contained Mulder's location, the same disc Krycek had given her in February. It's no coincidence, the date she saw on the photograph.

Scully stares ahead and clenches her hands inside her coat. "Why didn't you just come to me?" she says. Her voice is tight and her head is swimming, an unpleasant mixture of exasperation and contrition weighing down on her chest.

"Don't be naive," Krycek snorts, his breath hot on her neck.  "Kaiser would have known if you went looking for him, digging through his records. The FBI doesn't mean anything to people like him. He could've tracked you down and had you killed."

If she weren't sitting in the front seat she would reach out to slap him. "Don't patronize me, Krycek," Scully hisses. "You of all people should know that's how my sister-"

Krycek is staring at her in the mirror. She watches the rage fade from his features and the blood drain from his skin. Unable to finish her sentence, Scully turns her gaze toward the black glass of the window.

It seems like a long time before she finds the willingness to move again. Krycek is equally still in the back, so quiet that  he may as well not be there at all. If only that were true.

She's about to open the door when she feels the warmth of Krycek's  body as he leans in. A slight frown appears on his face in the mirror as he bends closer, his lips parted. She knows what he's about to say, but she doesn't want to hear it.

Her name has barely left his lips when Scully gets out and slams the door. The stinging air outside is nothing more than a small distraction to the hollow feeling inside her stomach. Scully walks a few steps into the darkness, momentarily aimless, until she chides herself and decides that she needs to find Mulder.

A few breaths and a quick shake of her shoulders, and Scully  begins to regain her composure. She marches toward the circle of light where her partner is standing, his cell phone glued to his ear. Somewhere behind her Krycek must be watching. She quells the sudden discomfort at the thought, but it's the way he looked at her, his mouth open in apology, that she can't seem to shake.

"Scully," Mulder calls to her, approaching as he pockets his phone.

"Was that Skinner?"

"No, I was having Byers check up on Richter's background again."

Scully nods and swallows before leading Mulder away from the squad car where they might have some privacy. She takes comfort in how he follows her thoughtfully as they make their way through the murky field, his hand resting lightly on her spine. The sheriff has his back to them as he speaks into his  radio, and for that Scully is grateful.

"Mulder," she sighs, "we need to talk."

 

****************************************

 

  
The sky is red. It's the first thing I see when I wake up before I have to shut my eyes again at the flare of pain deep in my chest. Someone clears their throat, and I look around. I'm still in the car. Mulder's driving and Scully is hidden away in the seat in front of me.

It's sheer exhaustion that drowns out this feeling of dread that I have. I should be trying to escape. They're taking me to the police station to get me fingerprinted and booked before hauling me back to D.C. By the time we get there, someone will be ready for me, waiting for the moment when I'm alone in a holding cell.

I blink, trying to clear my eyes, but the morning sky is still red. It looks too much like blood.

The car slows to a stop and the engine dies. This isn't a police station; we're at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. I only see a small, filthy building in front us while we sit in a vacant parking lot.

They both get out, and I hear their voices before the trunk opens and slams. Scully returns to her seat without looking at me. It's better this way because I can't look at her, either.

"Out," Mulder says as he opens the door.

He doesn't appreciate my hesitation. I'm pulled out and pushed against the freezing metal of the car. Mulder unlocks the cuffs and steps back, his gun pointed at me and a white piece of cloth in his hand.

"Move," he orders, gesturing towards the building.

I walk. I don't know what this is. "Mulder-"

"Shut up."

We move through the doors into the restroom. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling are flickering like this is some kind of horror movie. The smell is awful.

"Right there," he says.

My back is still to him. Something's wrong here, but I can't figure it out. "I"ll give you Richter," I try again. I don't know what else to say.

Silence.

"Damn it, Mulder, I'm trying to help you," I snarl, jerking my head toward my shoulder. "What do you want from me?"

"Does Richter know about my abduction?"

"Yeah. Maybe." I shake my head and eye the graffiti on the wall. "I don't know for sure."

"You're pathetic, Krycek," he says. "Offering something that you don't even understand, just like when you told me about that ship." I can imagine the smirk on his face.

It's not smart, but I turn around. "Stop thinking about yourself for once, Mulder."

His eyes narrow at me, but surprisingly, he says nothing.

I'm done with this. If he wants to ignore the circumstances, it's his choice. But I'm not going to let the world come to an end because Mulder and Scully want to see me dragged through the justice system.

Mulder's standing there stiffly with his arm outstretched. If I knock the weapon out of his hand and shove him sideways into one of the stalls, I might be able to get to his gun. I'll have to deal with Scully later.

I keep my eyes on him, not wanting him to notice myself tensing. He shifts the gun a little; his palm must be sweaty. Easier for me. I don't want to kill him, but I don't want him to kill me either.

His eyes lower. The next thing I know, something hits me lightly in the chest and falls to the floor.

"Put it on."

I pick up it without taking my eyes off of him. I rub the fabric in my hands, still unsure.

He waves the gun. "Just put the damn thing on, Krycek. Unless you want to explain to the next cop that finds you why you have blood all over yourself."

Numbly, I do what he says. His words don't register until I'm pulling the shirt he's given me over my head, but even then I don't believe it. I stand there with my jacket dragging the floor as I stare at him.

The look of disgust on Mulder's face settles into that miserable, sullen expression. He steps forward; the barrel of his gun carves into my chest as he comes unbearably close.

"I want everything you have on Richter," he says, gritting his teeth. "I want to know where he is and who he meets with."

I don't say anything. I watch the lines on his forehead deepen as he scrutinizes me, and for a second I wonder if he's going to renege on this deal. We breathe hard at each  other until Mulder suddenly backs away. Grudgingly, he lowers the gun.

His expression loosens a little, and if I weren't such a nervous wreck I'd be certain it's comprehension that I see in his eyes. "You can keep the t-shirt," Mulder says, sneering. The lights flicker once, twice, and then he's gone.

  
The engine rumbles outside as I lean back into the wall and slide to the ground. Their car is long gone by the time I feel steady enough move again. I force myself to get on my feet and nearly trip as I stumble out the door. I look down and see my belongings scattered on the icy concrete. My hand is shaking so badly that I drop my wallet and cell phone a few times before I manage to slip them into my pocket. I pick up my gun, and it feels lighter in my grip. Naturally, the clip is gone.

I have to get out of here. Cell phone's a bad idea; I can't  risk using it. I lean against the side of the building and wheeze, trying to force my nerves to settle. There's a payphone somewhere near the parking lot. I dig around inmy pockets for change and hope that the line isn't disconnected.

As the wind picks up my muscles start to seize. Blood is pounding in my ears, but I tell myself that I can't waste any more time. I stagger forward, my knees numb.

It doesn't take long for me to find it. I practically have to pry the receiver off the hook, but then it could just be my exhaustion. With the dial tone echoing loudly in my ear I struggle to pull myself together.

I know it was Scully who saved my ass again. There's no other explanation. The knowledge of it clamps down hard on my throat, but I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the phone until it hurts.

I have to get out of here, I tell myself. I have to get away.

 

 


	3. Part 3

The bedroom is dark by seven -- not unusual in the wintertime. Scully had decided to retire to bed early on an empty stomach, and Mulder followed her in. Neither one of them had been hungry enough to bother with dinner, not after the conversation they'd had earlier in the day. She can hear Mulder's breaths beside her now, slow and even. Scully shivers, but he doesn't reach out to touch her.

"About what happened," he says, pausing, "in Pennsylvania. Did Krycek ever say why he helped you?"

"No."

Mulder rolls over on the bed and settles against her back. "I don't get it."

"Forget about it, Mulder. Besides, he didn't come back after the incident at the office. I didn't think he was alive until we found him in Montana."

His fingers begin tapping an odd rhythm on her hip. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

Scully blinks at the bare wall of her bedroom. "We had an agreement," she answers thickly. The words difficult in coming out. "Krycek said he wanted to disappear. He held up his end of the bargain by giving me the disc, so in the end, I let him walk."

"Scully--"

"It was a decision I made," she interrupts. "I knew that if I told you, you wouldn't have let it go. You would have wanted to go after him."

Behind her, Mulder falls silent. She turns her body to face him, and his hand finds its way to the curve of her waist.

"Scully," he finally says. "Do you trust him?"

Turning into her pillow, Scully sighs. "I needed Krycek at the time. To find you." She hates how callous she sounds to herself. Mulder doesn't seem to notice, or doesn't care.

"No," he murmurs. "I mean now. Do you trust him?"

Less than two weeks had passed since they'd left Krycek behind somewhere along the highway, a few miles outside of Great Falls. He was more useful to them alive, and she knew he'd have a better chance of surviving on his own than if he were trapped behind bars in D.C. She'd managed to convince Mulder of this, among other things. They hadn't heard from Krycek since.

"I believe him," Scully replies. "I believe he's telling the truth when he says he wants to bring down the same people we want."

"Krycek hasn't contacted us. Knowing him, he probably took the opportunity to run off."

"We should give it some time."

"Scully, he could be dead." There is no gloating, no mocking sarcasm in his tone. She glances up to see Mulder's shadowed face, his dark eyes regarding her sympathetically.

"I know," she whispers.

Mulder sighs and pulls her in, pressing her to his chest. They lie like this for a long time, until his breathing slows and his hold on her slackens.

"So he really saved you," he mumbles as he breathes into her hair.

Half-awake, Scully can still remember the curious expression on Mulder's face when she told him about Pennsylvania, how wide-eyed he had been.

"Remind me," Mulder says, his voice dull with sleep. "Remind me to thank the son of a bitch the next time I see him."

 

****************************************

 

It's early morning. So early that the hallway lights are still on, and the streets were dark when I veered off the sidewalk and sneaked in through the back entrance. I don't know what I'm doing here, in front of Mulder's door, why I promised to do this at all.

I knock and wait. Behind the wood I can hear him shuffling, cursing. The peephole darkens, then there's nothing but silence as I'm sure he's getting his weapon out.

His tie is hanging loosely around his neck and his shirt is still untucked when he finally opens the door. The gun in his hand is pointed at me.

"I didn't know criminals started their day so early," Mulder says.

"Bad time, Mulder?"

"We talk inside," he says, ignoring my remark.

He searches me quickly, empties the clip and dumps my gun onto his coffee table. The papers that were in my pocket are rolled up in his hand, but he doesn't look at them yet.

"You didn't think I'd show, did you?"

"Sit down. Keep your hand on your knee."

I do what he says. "So, do you know?"

"Do I know what?"

"Richter's dead."

Mulder looks away, clenching his jaw, and yanks the tie from around his collar. "How the hell did that happen?"

I shrug. "He showed up on security footage at Heathrow about a month ago before he made it back to New York. He was laying low upstate in an old safehouse when it happened. I found his body on the back porch. Took a shot to the head."

Mulder glares at me like it's my fault. "You think it was one of Kaiser's men?"

"No," I say. "These people aren't loyal to one group or another; they're mercenaries at best. Kaiser's men have probably scattered and switched sides by now."

"Fine," Mulder agrees, but he doesn't look convinced. "So who do you think is responsible?"

"Could be a rival group. The Rebels, maybe, but unlikely. My money's on the people who hired him."

"That makes no sense. Richter can't be that disposable."

"It makes perfect sense," I snap. "Whoever they are, they're cleaning up because they know Richter was exposed. You made so much noise with the local police that I'm a little surprised how the two of you didn't managed to get reassigned again."

Mulder scoffs, but he doesn't argue. He knows I'm right.

"Whatever. What's done is done." I lean back on the couch and paw around under my jacket until I find it. A thumbdrive sewn into the hem, easy to overlook in a quick search. I rip it out and toss it carelessly onto the coffee table. Mulder's eyes go wide when he realizes he missed it.

"Research data," I say. "Whoever killed Richter ransacked the safehouse, but they didn't find it. It was sealed in a plastic bag, taped inside the pipes under the sink."

Mulder picks up the thumbdrive, and his eyes flick to mine. "How did you know where to look?" he asks.

"I didn't," I say. "I saw the water damage on the ceiling and started poking around in the upstairs bathroom."

Mulder actually chuckles.

Shrugging, I jerk my chin at the papers he's holding onto. "Those printouts were in there with the thumbdrive."

He grunts in acknowledgment, his eyes lowered as he scans the sheets. It seems he's in no hurry to throw me out, and oddly enough I'm in no hurry to leave. So I watch Mulder stand in his living room, sifting through the papers. He frowns every once in a while.

"Look at this," he says suddenly, shoving a printout in front of me. “Why did you write this?"

"Cobra?" The word is there, all in upper-case, printed in blue in the margins. Not my handwriting. "I didn't write it," I say, "but I remember looking into it. I pinned it for an alias or a codename for a covert program and found that it had some kind of connection to DARPA. Nothing but dead ends beyond that." Mulder's stare is beginning to unnerve me. "Why?"

"You don't think it means anything?"

"It could. Or maybe it's nothing."

"Don't jerk me around, Krycek," he snarls. "If you know more, you need to tell me now."

"Fuck you, Mulder," I say coolly. "If I did, I'd tell you. Don't forget that I came back when I could have walked away. I don't owe you shit."

Mulder narrows his eyes at me as he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The sudden tension in the room is strange, different than what I'm used to with him. It drags on my nerves, how quiet he is.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I finally break down. "What? You heard this name before?"

He shakes his head slowly -- not in denial, just to dismiss me. Looking down at the thumbdrive in his hand, Mulder sighs. "Can I keep this?" is all he says.

I nod and watch Mulder walk to his window. The sun is out now, filtering in through the blinds. We both know he's late for work.

I sigh and get up from his couch. "I'm leaving."

He doesn't respond. The tension's faded, and Mulder's sulking by the window about something he won't tell me. Doesn't matter. I kept my promise, and if he really wants to work this together, he'll have to tell me eventually.

Mulder has enough sense at least to watch me retrieve my gun. As I'm slipping it into my waistband, he turns back to the window.

"Thank you," he says.

I stare at him, speechless, but he doesn't turn around to laugh at me. There's something defeated about him, like the last time we were here in his apartment. It was dark, late at night. I knocked him down and saw him looking up at me past the barrel of my gun.

I brush him off and head for the door. "I'm trying to get ahold of more documents," I say hurriedly, trying to crush this awkwardness before I leave. "Government records, more of Richter's old research data that Agent Scully might-"

"No." Mulder cuts me off. "If you have anything, you bring them here. Everything goes through me, understand?"

Son of a bitch. I turn to him, ready to spit his contempt back in his face. But I only see Mulder as he was before, still sullen, his hands in his pockets.

And then I understand. I know what he wants from me, what he's asking me not to do. I wasn't planning on going to Scully anyway, not after our last conversation in the car the night Kaiser was killed. When she mentioned her sister, I panicked and froze; I didn't know what to say. But in the end, she spared me her anger. I sat numb in the backseat as she left the car in a hurry. All I could do was I watch Scully in the darkness until I couldn't see her anymore.

So I nod, mostly to myself, not caring if he sees it or not. The door slams behind me when I make it halfway down the hall. I wonder if this is right, if this sort of arrangement is really going to work. I can't go to Scully. Mulder's always suspicious of me, wondering if I'm going to sell them out when he'd do the same to me if ever he got the chance.

Outside, the sun is bright. It blinds me, makes me cold instead of warm. I shiver inside my jacket and turn a corner.

 

****************************************

 

It was already early spring when she first saw Krycek after Montana. Scully was nestled in a booth beside Mulder in the filthiest bar she'd ever been in when Krycek appeared, twenty minutes late to their meeting. They didn't discuss much. Neither man seemed willing to talk for fear of giving away too much or betraying some sort of vulnerability. Answers to her questions were brief and chilly; only Mulder's snide remarks managed to elicit a flicker of enthusiasm from their associate. It was just like old times.

In the end Scully sat in silence, watching Mulder fume as Krycek radiated hate from across the table. Finally, it was Krycek who conceded when he gave a sardonic chuckle and rose from his seat. He hustled out the door the way he came in -- scowling and alone.

Scully did not see him again after that. The investigation had grown cold, she guessed, as domestic terrorism cases occupied more and more of her time. At first Scully speculated on the lack of updates from her partner -- with Richter dead and no other leads, she assumed there was simply no reason for Krycek to contact them. The few times she inquired, Mulder only shrugged, maybe to save her the embarrassment. Krycek was gone, run off. It wasn't so odd, Scully had thought. If she were Krycek, she would've washed her hands of this mess, too.

That summer was busy. There were raids in Texas and Florida. They were making headway in building their cases and compiling evidence; Scully found herself testifying in front of a Senate committee while Mulder pored over phone tap transcripts. Their superiors wanted to focus on bombs and militants, not chasing down suspects involved in some absurd, make-believe conspiracy. The months tumbled on as the turmoil from last winter faded into the humid D.C. heat and a mountain of paperwork.

And so it is unexpected this morning when Mulder breaks away from the swarm of agents after a meeting, tugging at her arm and leading her aside. They end up in a vacant hallway, and Scully prompts her partner with a nudge to the ribs before Mulder sets to whispering.

He tells her about Krycek, about how the man had suddenly appeared last night at his apartment. In the unlit living room, he'd held a gun to Mulder's head, his hand trembling so badly that Mulder was afraid the weapon would accidentally go off. Krycek had demanded to know who Mulder had talked to and how someone had managed to get a tail on him before putting a bullet through the wall of his motel room. He wanted to know who was taking out his contacts. He wanted to know who Cobra was.

 

****************************************

 

I wake up in full daylight, sweating, blood draining from my head. I'm in my apartment. It's noon, and I think that I was dreaming -- some nightmare that my mind can't remember but my body still can. I could lie here longer, but I force myself off the sagging mattress and into the bathroom. With the blinds closed and the light off I run water over my face, into my mouth. Take deep breaths and swallow even though it hurts. I look in the mirror.

Three days ago I was jumped; two of them caught me on an empty sidewalk and dragged me behind a dumpster between two buildings. Not sure if the man I stabbed is dead. The blood collecting underneath my eye is yellow now, like some kind of unnatural tan. I can still make out the dark red marks below my jaw when one of them had his hands around my neck.

They wore plainclothes and carried knives, and if they had guns they didn't use them. Instead they stuck me right above my collarbone, and when I pulled the needle out, I knew it was over. I tossed the syringe somewhere in that alley, my blood and half the contents still inside. Somehow I made it back here, nearly blind, my lungs gritty like they were filled with sand. I vomited in the trash can. At least that’s what I can remember.

My cell phone goes off suddenly, somewhere in my room. It's vibrating across the top of the dresser when I find it, clearing a path through all the dust.

"You're more trouble than it's worth," Marita says when I pick up.

"What is it?"

"They won't stop calling me."

"Tell Mulder to go fuck himself."

"Get a secretary, Alex. I have better things to do."

I sigh, about to hang up, but Marita continues anyway.

"It's not him, it's her. She keeps calling."

“What?”

“You heard me. Do something.”

I pause. “What does she want?” I ask, and it takes everything in me to keep my voice from shaking. I can’t think. The ache in my head is that much worse; I can feel my skull filling up and my heart start to race. What does she want -- I’m having visions of the last time I saw Scully, the way she looked at me when I dragged myself away. I wonder, if these men came looking for me--

“She wants to talk,” Marita says.

I keep the phone to my ear and say nothing. But it doesn’t really matter because I know she can hear me. My breathing is enough. My hesitation gives everything away.

There's silence for a moment. "Is that a 'yes'?" she suddenly sneers. Her voice is dripping with conceit; I can almost see that smile breaking on her face.

Before I chuck the phone across the room, I can still hear her laughing.

"That's always been your problem, Alex. You always do what other people want."

 

****************************************

 

It's no surprise to Scully when five o'clock comes and goes. She is still sitting alone on the wooden bench as the sun begins to dip.

'Arlington,' the note said. '11th Street Park.'

She feels humiliated for even coming here at all. At six, she gathers up her coat and walks past the teenagers laying on the lawn next to her car. She can feel them eye her as she slides into the driver's seat.

A long time passes, and still nothing. By now the teenagers have disappeared, leaving behind only their imprints in the crushed grass. Porchlights flicker on, and the sky begins to darken.

He isn't coming, she thinks.

Mindlessly, Scully drives home. She parks in front of her building and sits in the car, watching the lifeless streets until the crushing darkness of her neighborhood coaxes her indoors.

At the entryway she hesitates, the large metal handle of the door warming in her hand. Scully shakes it off. It was her fault for having any expectations at all.

But then a shiver runs through her; her heartbeat is suddenly in her ears. It’s an uncanny sensation, the unmistakable feel  
of a presence, and on instinct she feels for her weapon.

"Hey," a voice murmurs behind her, and then she knows who it is. The dimension of intimacy to it makes her hairs stand on end.

She turns to find Krycek retreating into the shadows, his good hand slightly raised. "It's just me."

"Just you," Scully echoes dryly. Her hand strays back down to her side. She snorts, "Where were you in Arlington?"

"I was there."

So he had been watching her. Scully looks him over, and he tenses visibly when she lets the moment linger. "Come on, then," she finally mutters, heading inside towards the staircase.

They wind up in her living room, with Krycek shuddering and blinking at her when she turns on the lamp.

There is something off about him. His skin is pale in the light, his eyes wet and tired. Reddish bruises on his neck peeking out behind the collar of his jacket.

Krycek sinks into the couch, his lip curled suddenly in a sneer. "You aren't going to search me for weapons?"

"Should I?"

"Mulder did."

“Why?” Scully snaps. The last thing she wants to do tonight is to field Krycek’s resentment. “Are you going to intimidate me like you did with Mulder? Or worse?”

She can see him react to the last jab -- an imperceptible flinch, a slight crinkle above his nose. There is little doubt that he understands what she means. But then he recovers and blinks; his expression is as scornful as ever.

“And why would I do that?”

Inwardly, Scully groans. This isn’t what she had planned. Moving forward is her priority, and she’d rather not play the part of Mulder in this petty exchange. She had her reasons for seeking out Krycek, and she imagined he had his own for showing up.

“Krycek,” she sighs heavily, "I didn't sell you out and neither did Mulder."

He narrows his eyes her, baring his teeth, before he suddenly stops short. Instead he jerks away, his shoulders stiffening.

"Cobra," Krycek murmurs without warning. He shivers and scrubs at his face. "Richter was in correspondence with him before he was killed. Something that had to do with a secret project overseen by DARPA. You know who he is."

"Maybe.” The name was scribbled somewhere in the dossier from Krycek -- the only thing they had resembling a lead. Any scrap of spare time that she and Mulder had in the last month was spent chasing down this dead man and his connection to Richter. But  
the people at DARPA certainly did not want to talk without subpeonas and warrants, and the whole thing was dropped so fast that it became nothing more than a mere blink in their dragging investigation.

Where to even start. Scully pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. "I knew a man who went by Cobra,” she continues. “He was a scientist at DARPA, but he's dead now. He died long before any of this business with Richter."

"Are you sure?"

"I watched him die. He was murdered in front of me."

"By whom?"

Without answering, Scully considers Krycek. His hostility is gone, replaced by that piercing intensity. She can sense his desperate need to know, and judging from his sorry condition, his life may very well depend on it. It saddens her, in spite of everything. He should know, Scully thinks. If her partner never told Krycek, she might as well. It was her story to tell, anyway.

And so she tells Krycek about Spender and how he sought her out, promised a cure for all things and offered Marjorie Butters as proof. She tells Krycek about the boat out on the lake, how Cobra died and about the whitewashed building and the empty disc. She tells him that in the end, nothing came of it. She doesn't tell him about her shame.

"But Cobra is alive," Krycek says. "The proof is in those documents I gave to Mulder."

"What proof is that? Who’s to say that this is even the same Cobra?”

“You think this is all a coincidence.”

“No,” Scully admits, “but I think it’s more likely that someone was using this name to communicate with Richter. They’re both scientists in a related field. Easier to build trust that way.”

From his dull expression, she can’t make out what Krycek might be thinking. “Did you find anything at DARPA?” he asks.

“No. They didn’t want to talk to us. We can’t access records beyond the thin clearance that we have already.”

“I found files related to Cobra,” Krycek confesses. “In DSO. The real names were blacked out. When I went back to retrieve more, they were gone. Someone wiped them.”

“You accessed files at Defense Sciences?”

“That’s when they starting following me.”

“That night,” Scully acknowledges, “in Mulder’s apartment.”

“Yes,” Krycek says, and it almost comes out like a hiss. “I had clean access; I took precautions. No one could have known.”

“Look, Mulder didn’t say anything. As far as our superiors are concerned, Montana didn’t happen. Your name was never mentioned.”

Krycek bows his head a little, maybe to hide the face he’s making.

“So who’s this third party, then?” he scoffs.

“A third party,” Scully repeats to herself. She runs the thought over in her mind, considering the possibilities and coming up with few. “There were just three people who were there when Cobra was killed. Me, Spender and the shooter. If we somehow-”

“The shooter, who was he? Did you see him?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Was the shooter working for Spender?”

The idea had never occurred to her. “No,” she says hastily. “They shot at me after Cobra was hit. I would have died if I hadn’t heard the last gunshot. Spender must have killed the shooter before he could get to me.”

Krycek snorts, a pure look of disgust on his face. “That’s his MO.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-” Krycek stops abruptly, and his mouth opens and closes. “No,” he finally says, and she can sense him withdraw again. “Just forget it.”

“Krycek. If it’s relevant, I need to know.”

After a long while, he sighs and fidgets in his seat. “He hires people to perform these terminations,” Krycek explains. “And then he kills them.”

Of course -- she remembers how Cardinale had met his end, but somehow Krycek didn’t. Instead, he had surfaced with a right-wing militia, his features sharper than she had remembered, his hair shorn short beneath that filthy baseball cap. A clawing dread comes over her when she makes the connection -- they had tried to kill Krycek after they sent him to finish her.

Scully takes a deep breath. “So you’re saying that it was Spender who wanted Cobra dead.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Krycek’s voice crackles. He swallows.

“Is the Smoker still alive? If he’s the one using Cobra’s identity-”

"That's not possible."

"You mentioned before that Spender died. I know he was sick the last time I saw him, but how sure are you?"

Krycek is quiet. She sees a flicker of trouble in his eyes, but when he looks to her, it's all but gone. "He's dead," Krycek says flatly. "The old son of a bitch isn't coming back."

The silence that follows is long and awkward. He shrinks away, doesn’t look at her. When he gets up from the couch and heads for the door, Scully crowds him into the corner.

“What do you want?” he snarls. But it doesn’t matter that he is leaning over her, using his mass to bully her to step aside. His breath is hot on her cheek, his face twisted in a scowl, but his eyes are sad and fearful. Scully knows she has the upperhand, but it doesn’t feel good.

“I need to know that you’re still with us,” she answers, trying to keep her voice hard.

Krycek doesn’t say anything. His eyes are watchful, searching her face for something she can’t readily discern.

"How bad?" she asks.

“What?”

“I’m not stupid, Krycek. How bad is it?”

Krycek closes his eyes and turns his head away, his jaw clenched. "Bad enough,” he finally mutters. His voice is still tight, but his stance loosens as he backs away from her.

Scully lays a hand on his shoulder but pulls away when he flinches. "Come on,” she sighs, grasping his elbow. “No one’s looked at you yet.”

He has no answer for her. Grudgingly, he follows her to the bathroom. His jacket is dropped to the floor; it takes more coaxing for him to remove his long-sleeved thermal. The weather is far too warm to dress like this.

"You feel cold?" she asks.

"Yeah."

Scully lays a hand on his cheek. A low-grade fever, most likely from his injuries.

There are a few bruises, small cuts that can no longer be sutured. An infected, raw wound on his right shoulder with bits of pavement still embedded. He couldn't clean it himself. There is no need to comment any further on his amputated arm and the large network of scars on his back -- she can’t justify any more cruelty to him on her part.

He grimaces when she cleans out the gravel from his shoulder, but he sits still until she’s done covering it dressings.

It seems to take him longer to dress himself than it did when he shrugged his clothing off. He moves like he aches everywhere, but it doesn’t show on his face. She turns away, not wanting to watch, and distracts herself by digging in the drawer for the medicine.

“Take these,” Scully says. She places the bottle on the sink as Krycek finishes pulling his shirt back on. “Doxycycline.”

Krycek stares at the bottle, then back at her. In the white fluorescent light he looks pale; the purple patches on his neck are so vivid now that they ripple when he breathes and swallows. “I didn’t know,” he says. “About Cobra, the cure. He put me away.”

She doesn’t ask what he means by that. “I’m surprised you don’t. You worked for Cancer Man.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, and Scully knows she’s hit a sore spot. But then Krycek lets out a heavy breath, lowering his head to retrieve his jacket on the floor. “Not then. I did; it was a long time ago. They didn’t tell me anything.”

Scully watches him, waiting for him to scoop up his things and leave. He doesn’t.

“Did he hurt you?” Krycek asks. His eyes are downcast, his gaze flitting across the bathroom floor.

It was a question she had asked herself a dozen times, and there was never a good answer. It made her lose sleep, thinking about what could have happened and remembering the things they had done to violate her already. She can’t talk about her fear, not to a man who was sent to kill her, a mercenary as ruthless as his own employers who had wanted him dead. It made little difference that Krycek was remorseful.

“I don’t know,” she answers wearily. “He may have drugged me. I don’t know.”

Scully turns away so she won't have to see him standing there, stewing in his own guilt as he clutches the leather jacket in his hand. Without elaborating any further, she searches through the drawer again, purposefully rattling the pills in their plastic bottles to keep the silence away.

She places the ibuproben on the sink. “For your fever,” she murmurs.

Krycek drapes the jacket over his shoulder and pockets the bottles with his free hand. “I killed him. The old man.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I guess not,” he says quietly. “It didn’t make me feel better, either.”

 

****************************************

 

I expect Scully to slap me, but she doesn’t. I’m not sure why I admitted anything to her about the old bastard. But it’s only fair, I guess -- she had to relive that nightmare with Cobra simply because I had asked.

We look at each other, and I can’t read anything on her face. No disgust, no anger. It’s her eyes that bore into me, and I feel stripped away, down to nothing. I think I’ve had more than enough of that for one night.

“Here,” I mutter, and I’m sure she can tell that I’m frantic to escape her scrutiny. I bite down on my jacket while my free hand fumbles for the thumbdrive in the pocket.

Scully takes what I offer in silence. At least she isn’t looking at me anymore.

“Files from DARPA. Just what I could swipe the first time around.”

She clears her throat. “Thank you,” she says.

If this doesn’t confirm that I’m still with her, then there’s nothing else I can do. Another wave of chills hits me, and I try to suppress the shivering in my upper body. Time for me to go.

Impatiently, I brush past her, and Scully follows me to the living room. All the while, I can feel her eyes burning into the back of my skull.

But for some reason, I can’t walk out that door. There’s death out there like a funeral parade; I feel it as plainly as I can imagine it. It’s clearer to me now than it was before. Scully will understand when she sees those files. Someone’s going to win in this, and it’s certainly not the lot of us. Things won't be the same. I find myself wondering if I’m ever going to see her again after this.

“I’m sorry,” I say, staring ahead at the door. I don't know if I meant to say it out loud. The words spill out and bounce off the wood, flat and muted. I realize now that I’m trembling.

Beside me, Scully is silent. Slowly, she moves closer and places a hand on my arm. I’m led back to the couch, and she has me sit while she hovers over me, concerned.

I can’t stop shaking. How do I tell her about these things that haunt me -- the choices I’ve made and how badly they’ve all played out, the things I didn’t do because I was too much of a coward. The fear of these new people and the terrible knowledge that they wanted me alive rather than dead. It’s my guilt over her. I might not see her again. How do I tell her when there’s no way to say it.

I bow my head and cover my eyes so Scully can’t see me.

Calmly, she exhales and then I find myself doing it, too. Her hand comes to rest on the back of my neck as I try to get ahold of myself.

“I know,” Scully whispers. She says it so quietly that I barely hear her say it. Or maybe I wasn’t meant to.

I look up, and her eyes are kind. Her hand stays on me until the shaking stops.

When I finally get up to leave, Scully moves away but doesn’t walk me to door. She is looking at me again with those clear blue eyes, her arms folded firmly across her chest.

“I’ll be seeing you again,” Scully says.

Never mind the thumbdrive. I know what she wants. She says it almost like a question, and I’m supposed to confirm where I stand in all of this. This is business, after all, and she wants something for saving my ass in Montana and for the hell I put her through. And while her voice may be firm, her eyes are soft and thoughtful, and I can’t help but wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Yes, this is business, but it’s not just business anymore. I realize now that she understands this, too.

I can feel my throat tighten, but Scully needs her answer.

“Yes,” I say. Even though it might not happen, I still mean it.

Scully nods.

Without looking back, I leave her apartment. The future is death, and I can feel it in my bones like a sickness deep inside of me. But at least I know what to do now, and where to look next.

When I step out into the street, the night is quiet and empty. Blackness settles over everything, the darkness swallows me whole.

I know what to do now. I’m not lost anymore.

 

-end-


End file.
